Celebrity Sex Dreams: Kathleen Turner Interrupted By Mr. T

For our second installment of Celebrity Sex Dreams, we’ve got a story from Kasey Anderson, whose brain we previously tapped to make fun of Adam Levine, and whose music you should definitely listen to if you’re a fan of great things.

I was five years old when Romancing the Stone, starring Kathleen Turner, was in theaters. It must have made quite an impression on me because, while I do not remember seeing the film, I distinctly remember attempting to kiss my mother’s friend Marge (who also happened to be the nurse who had delivered me) at my family’s dining room table a short while after having seen the film. As the beginnings of a man’s sexual exploration go, it was less than auspicious.

I can’t say for certain that Romancing the Stone burrowed its way into my subconscious but, given my immediate reaction to the film, it is likely that Turner hid out in the crevices of my imagination for years, waiting for the perfect moment to spring out and upend my life. That moment, as it turned out, would take place several years later, when I was 14 and Turner appeared as the object of my affections in what is far and away the most unsettling sex dream I have ever had.

Given the hulking mass of testosterone Turner would later become, the dream seems especially disturbing in retrospect but, in my mind’s eye, Dream Turner was sultry and alluring, not at all unlike her character in Romancing the Stone. We found ourselves entangled on a bench, in my high school’s boys’ locker room. I have no idea if one has anything to do with the other but, at the time, I was in danger failing PE due largely to my refusal to change into gym clothes. In the dream, I was aware of the surroundings and troubled by the fact that we were in the locker room. If Mr. Wheeler found me, there would be no talking myself out of that “F.” Unless! Maybe he would be incredibly impressed that I was clumsily groping at The Kathleen Turner, and announce that, not only was I going to ace PE, I was henceforth exempt from any strenuous athletic activity of any kind, on school grounds or elsewhere. “To the victor goes the spoils, Anderson,” he would say, “and I can think of no greater victory than humping all over Kathleen Turner, here in the musty darkness of the Prairie High School Boys Locker Room.” Probably that is how it would play out. But no time to think about Mr. Wheeler and the ramifications of my conquest! I was Big-Time Frenching all over Turner’s face and things were about to get Adult Sexy. Kathleen Turner was not some repressed-and-conflicted schoolgirl who wanted to rebel against her parents, but not so much that she risked getting pregnant. No. Kathleen Turner was a woman, and I was a man, and we were going to have Adult Sex.

Unfortunately, our passionate careen towards Adult Sex was interrupted when a diminutive, muscular figure emerged from the shadows of the locker room showers (fully clothed, thank God), and asked me point-blank, “Whatchoo doin’?” It was Mr. T. Were it not enough for my pubescent mind to grapple with the fact that I was engaged in a dreamtryst with a woman nearly thrice my age (lovely though she may have been in Prizzi’s Honor), I now had to grapple with the appearance of another childhood entertainment touchstone, B.A. Baracus. (The “B.A.” stood for “Bad Attitude,” you’ll remember.) In my dream (and probably in the recesses of whatever consciousness I could muster at the time), I feared the worst; that T would ingratiate himself into the affair and monopolize Turner’s affections. I could not have this; I needed to head him off at the pass. To the best of my recollection, this is how the dialogue played out.

Dream Kasey: We’re together.

Dream T: Cool.

Dream Kasey: She’s with me.

Dream T: I know that, fool! You just said that!

Dream Kasey: Why are you here?

Dream T: Congratulations!

Dream Kasey: Okay.

Dream T began to walk away, then wheeled around and shouted, “HEY!” at which point I awoke, horrified, disappointed, and completely perplexed. What the hell would have happened after, “HEY?”

I guess I’ll never know and, as neither Turner nor Mr. T would ever appear in one of my dreams again, I am left to ponder which psychological childhood knots I was trying to untangle by dreaming up a scenario in which B.A. Baracus put an end to my dalliance with Matty Walker. It plagues me to this day.

Although you’ll be pleased to know that I did not, in fact, fail PE, as Mr. Wheeler was clearly able to intuit that, during REM, I was the daring, passionate lothario he had only ever wished to be. Additionally, I was able to muster up the courage and strength to strip off my jeans and pull on a pair of gym shorts three days a week, so that may have had something to do with the passing grade, as well. But mostly, it was the daring, passionate lothario thing.